


Seychelles Snapshots

by agentverbivore (verbivore8642)



Series: Ficlets [8]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Adorable FitzSimmons (Agents of SHIELD), Beach Holidays, Beach House, Beaches, Competition, Crying, Dancing, Depression, Drunken Kissing, Early Mornings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fireworks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fourth of July, Kissing, Making Out, Morning Cuddles, Nerdiness, Nudity, POV Jemma Simmons, POV Leo Fitz, POV Multiple, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prompt Fic, Romantic Fluff, Sexual Content, Seychelles Fic, Sleepy Cuddles, Sloppy Makeouts, Teasing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tumblr Prompt, Walks On The Beach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-07-10 10:09:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6979042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbivore8642/pseuds/agentverbivore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of ficlets, in no particular order, about FitzSimmons' vacation to the Seychelles after the conclusion of season 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I realized that a lot of the drabbles/ficlets that I write over the course of this year's summer hiatus are probably going to be Seychelles-centric, so I thought it made sense to organize them all into a separate collection from [Daydreams](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3339782).
> 
> Please look at the warnings for each chapter - this is overall rated a hard T, with the possibility of going up to M eventually.
> 
> Subscribe to get updates, since this'll just be updated whenever I fill a new prompt!
> 
> Remember to brush your teeth after reading all this tooth-rotting fluff, guys. ;-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated PG-13 for suggestive content (but basically G).
> 
> [Original Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/145219534915/for-the-fitzsimmons-prompts-fitzsimmons-arriving).

“Oh, _Fitz_ ,” Jemma breathed, dropping her carryon to the mahogany floor. “It’s perfect!”

Closing the door to their beach-adjacent cabin behind himself, Fitz had to agree. The main room was small on floor space but the furnishings were luxurious in reds and golds, and the four-poster bed was hung with mosquito netting, making the room look fit for royalty. Which Jemma might as well be, in his personal opinion. His eyes wandered from the supplied Bluetooth stereo to where Jemma was trailing her fingers over the freshly shined wooden dresser and peeking through the curtains. She let out a small squeal of excitement and hopped over to the wall-length windows.

“Fitz, the hot tub!”

Coming up behind her, he rested one hand on the small of her back as he peered through the curtains at what was, indeed, a private hot tub. The fence seemed to have hinges, probably to allow guests to open it should they wish to overlook the ocean while lounging in the steaming water. Impressed, Fitz nodded.

“Very nice.”

“Nice?” Jemma twisted up to look at him, aghast. “ _Nice_?! That’s all you can say?!”

He tried to think of something more descriptive, but kept getting distracted by wanting to kiss her. “D’you think monkeys will play in the hot tub? Or will the chlorine chase ‘em off?”

Groaning into a laugh, she dropped her head against his shoulder. “We reserve the sixth most expensive room in the resort, and you just want to know about the monkeys.”

“I’d have been fine in a tent on the beach, s’long as I was with you,” he said grandly, earning him an emphatic eye-roll.

“You would have spent the entire time complaining about getting sand everywhere.”

“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t be happy anyway.” He reached up to caress her cheek, rubbing his thumb affectionately against her skin, and her expression melted.

“You’re impossible,” she murmured, nuzzling up at him and then leaning forward to fit their mouths together.

Kissing Jemma was like a revelation each time, as far as Fitz was concerned, even if they’d done things far more X-rated by this point. For some reason, kissing her was still his favorite way of showing her how he felt, something about the inherent intimacy of it. After a few moments, she dropped back onto her feet, eyes fluttering open as she smiled dreamily up at him.

“What do you think will be the first fish we see tomorrow?” With that, she was off again, back to exploring the room as she mused about their planned snorkeling expedition. “I think I’d like to see an _Elagatis bipinnulata_ , or a  _Cephalopholis argus_. The _Lethrinus nebulosus_ is supposed to be particularly fetching in the wild, but –”

“Jemma,” Fitz laughed, leaning against the window and pushing the curtains open so he had a better view, “English, not Latin, please. I didn’t memorize the guidebook on the flight.”

“It’ll come in handy,” she sniffed, and he heard her move around the mosquito netting.

“I know,” he retorted, “but someone was monopolizing the book.”

Rifling through her bag, she sighed. “The rainbow runner, the peacock hind grouper, and the spangled emperor fish.”

He hummed, wrinkling his nose. “I dunno, I think I’d really like to see a dugong. Reckon they wouldn’t be that close to shore, though, we might have to see about hiring a boat to take us out. That’s gotta be an option somewhere, right? Jemma?” When he turned around, she was in the process of stripping off her knickers, leaving her stark naked in the middle of the room, and he let out an annoyingly unmanly squeak. “The curtains –!”

“So close them, then,” she said, giving him a dry look. Flailing behind himself, he whisked the two swaths of satin closed before realizing that the fence was more than high enough to hide Jemma from anyone else.

“What,” he said hoarsely, pausing to clear his throat, “are you doing?”

“Going to take a shower.” She responded as if he was being particularly slow, and they both turned when there was a sharp knock at the door. “Oh, excellent, those must be the bags. I’ll see you in here soon, shall I?” When he just stared at her, she snapped her fingers to get his attention. “Hello, Fitz?”

“Right,” he croaked, stumbling to the front door. “Bags, shower. Be right there.”

“Good,” she said, giving him a knowing smile and disappearing into the marble-clad room.

How Jemma could go from talking about fish and snorkeling one second to stripping off all her clothes and propositioning him in the next was completely beyond him. But Fitz wouldn’t have her be any other way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated a hard T for sex mentions.
> 
> [Original Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/144868774217/i-think-you-and-would-agree-that-this-is-the).

Nearly everything about the Seychelles was hard to resist. Long walks on the beaches (even if they both got a tiny bit sunburned), mid-afternoon drinks specials at the pool bar (it was five o’clock somewhere in the world), sex in the outdoor hot tub (the cabin’s fence was _probably_ high enough to hide them from the rest of the world), and - most especially - each other. Both Fitz and Jemma would find themselves each drawn inexorably towards the other at all times of the day, wanting to just touch or hold or kiss when doing even mundane things, like following up on an erroneous mini-bar charge. Neither of them could ever remember being happier or more at peace in their entire lives - and considering how much they’d both (eventually) enjoyed being at the Academy and traveling on the Bus, that was saying something.

Currently, it was three in the afternoon and they were both well on their way to being three sheets to the wind before teatime. Jemma had made it her mission to taste and evaluate every single one of the resort’s 85 fruit cocktails before they left, and she’d made it through an astounding number in only the past three days. Overly sweet drinks really weren’t to Fitz’s taste, but he’d been happily sampling their various single-malts and whatever driest cocktails were on the menu. Mostly, though, he was spending his time admiring Jemma. The way wisps of her hair caught the sunlight as it arced beneath the bar’s straw overhang, the way her smile practically never left her face (except, occasionally, when it was exchanged for little o’s of pleasure in their bed), the way her eyes lit up every time he so much as touched, held, or spoke to her. She was radiant, even wearing a somewhat garish orange sarong and a wide-brimmed hat, and Fitz had no desire to look away. If she let him, he’d stare at her (in a very romantic and totally not creepy way) for the rest of their lives.

“You’re staring.”

Fitz blinked, dropping his gaze from Jemma’s mischievous smile. “Am I?”

She hummed, placing her empty, widely-curved glass onto the bar and then leaning back against the bamboo. “Why would you be doing that?” A slight slur marred her normally impeccable enunciation, the way her head lolled to the side emphasizing how much she was feeling the two cocktails she’d just consumed.

He matched her grin with his own and reached around behind her to return his glass. Instead of moving away again, however, he crowded into his girlfriend’s space, placing his hands on either side of her and leaning in so close that their quickened breaths mingled. “I dunno,” he murmured, watching as she deliberately licked over her bottom lip with her tongue, enticing him, drawing him in. “Maybe….” The closer he got, the better he could see the dilation of her pupils, the perfect curve of her raised eyebrow. “I… don’t understand why you’re wearing this ridiculous hat.”

Slipping slightly on the bar’s glass surface, he swiped the offending accessory off her head and straightened to hold it out of her reach. White cotton shirt swaying open, he tottered to the side more than he would’ve liked, his own equilibrium on the rocks after his three drinks… on the rocks. Jemma let out a playful shriek and grabbed him around the shoulders, trying inelegantly to snatch the hat back out of his hand.

“ _Fiiiiitz_ , I told you this morning! I don’t want to get burned!”

“You look like a hotter version of my mum’s friends.”

She gave him a small shove, giggles making their way through her mildly drunken indignation. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or annoyed.”

“How about this,” he conceded, stretching his arm so far up that the hat brushed against the straw roof, “for every kiss you give me, I’ll bring the hat down an inch.”

“Ooooooo you’re transparent, you are,” she teased, but she’d already rested her arms on his shoulders and slid the fingers of one hand into his hair.

“That’s the idea.” Fitz gave her his very best smug grin, but as she’d already lifted up enough that their noses could brush together it didn’t have much of an effect.

If Jemma had been sober, she almost certainly would have protested more, or tried grabbing his arm once he was distracted, or found a loophole, like kissing his hand. As it was, neither of them were in the frame of mind to come up with anything of a sort, and when she captured his mouth with hers the kiss was sensuous and fast and, hell if he didn’t forget the game they’d been playing instantly. She was pressing her whole body against him, the thin material of the sarong only emphasizing the curves it covered. The hat dropped to the sand as he wrapped both arms around her, bringing them flush together and working his mouth heatedly against hers.

Suddenly, though, Jemma pulled away, twisting halfway out of his arms as he leaned in towards her, blindly chasing her lips. “Oh, _oh_ Fitz, I love this song!”

“What?” His brain was still fixated on kissing her, and he hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that he wasn’t doing so anymore.

“Come on,” she said, wrapping both hands around one of his, “let’s dance!”

Jemma dragged Fitz out into the open beach after her, the sun still hot but at least not as scorching as it had been when they’d dropped into the beach bar’s stools.

“I don’t dance.”

“Oh yes you do, Mr. Romantic,” she cooed faux-seriously, twining two of their hands together and curving the other around his neck. “Or do you want to lose that title, hm?”

Fitz glared at her smirk, and contemplated all of the ways he could wipe it off her face in seconds if it weren’t inappropriate for him to perform sexual acts on his girlfriend in public. Instead of acquiescing to his competitive instincts, he wrapped his free arm around her waist and started swaying with her to the old-fashioned tune.

“You’re a menace,” he grumbled, pressing their foreheads together.

Giggling, Jemma nuzzled up at him. “Downright terrifying, that’s me.” His foot slipped in the sand, and her laughter only grew as he grabbed onto her for balance. “And you’re,” she chortled, “a right old Casanova.”

“Don’t want to be Casanova anyway,” he muttered. “STIs, police running after you all the time, what a life.” Jemma snorted into a laugh so violent that she had to bury her face in his neck, shoulders shaking with mirth. “‘Sides, I only ever wanted you.”

“Oh,” she breathed against his skin, eyes shining in the sunlight as she looked up to meet his, “ _Fitz_.”

Unsure what else to say, he just shrugged and pressed his cheek against her temple, trying to pay attention to the rhythm of the bluesy old song playing on the faux-bamboo-covered speakers.

“Alright,” Jemma whispered, leaning against him, “you can keep the title of ‘most romantic.’ For now.”

Scoffing, he tilted his head to press a loose kiss to her mouth. “I’ll put up a good fight to keep it.”

“You will,” she agreed in between lazy kisses. “But you don’t look nearly as good in that red lace teddy as I do.”

Fitz must have blacked out briefly, or look on his face must have been particularly stellar, because the next thing he knew Jemma was draped over him, having collapsed in a giggling fit, and the song had changed.

“Excuse me,” said a voice to Fitz’s right, drawing both of their attention. The question came from a woman with dark skin and barely-greying hair, whose hand was entwined with the much paler fingers of a man of the same age. A smile danced around her lips as she watched them, and Jemma tilted herself to the side so she could see the older couple. “How long have you two been married?”

Fitz felt a blush rise to his cheeks, and he was halfway through an awkward, stammering refusal when Jemma piped up: “Ten years.” He whipped his head around to where she was smiling beatifically at him.

“No way,” the man said, looking from one to the other. “You guys must’ve been kids!”

“We met when we were teenagers,” Jemma said, swaying a little and supporting herself with her arms around Fitz’s neck.

“Oh, just _look_ at them, Bernard -”

“I see ‘em, Rose,” the man said, shooing away his wife, who was staring adoringly at Fitz and Jemma. “Let ‘em get back to their dance.”

“Have a good vacation!” Rose called out as they made their retreat, tangling her hand with her husband’s.

“Ten years?” Fitz turned back to Jemma, who was once again rocking from side to side in tune to the music. “Did we get married when we were eighteen and you not tell me about it?”

“Third year, the night you kipped next to my bed when you drank too much at the Boiler Room and blacked out.”

Fitz stared at her, wondering now whether or not she was joking. The too-wide grin on her face as she exaggerated the sway of her hips tipped him off, and he rolled his eyes.

“Alright, well, next time we get married, I wanna know about it first.”

“You will,” she said, voice half-teasing and half-serious, and then reached up to bring his lips down to meet hers.

As Fitz kissed Jemma on a beach in the Seychelles, the wind blowing her hair into his face and sand against their skin, he thought that one day a moment like this would be perfect for asking her to marry him. And if he managed that, he’d _definitely_ keep the title of “most romantic” for at least a few, solid months. With or without her use of the red lace lingerie.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated light M. 
> 
> [Original Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/145015117138/congrats-on-your-fanniversary-my-two-yearsll-be).

The restaurant at the sand’s edge was lit with muted strings of electric lanterns, the dining room a straw-roofed pavilion large enough to house a stage for the live band and singer. Most of the women guests were wearing dresses and bejeweled flip-flops, with some men in blazers and others only in their shirtsleeves, in keeping with the beach-adjacent atmosphere. Guests were encouraged to meander onto the sand after their meals, although most just enjoyed the tranquil view from their seats. 

Jemma held daintily onto Fitz’s arm as their waiter led them to their table, her buzz from their afternoon imbibing having long since worn off, and felt rather like she’d stepped into a fairytale. Having always wanted to be swept off her feet had occasionally warred with her own inherently practical nature. When she was younger she used to fight against it, but as an adult, she’d long since learned that it was perfectly acceptable to be both analytical and romantic. Fortunately for her, she’d found both qualities in her best friend, although she hadn’t realized quite the degree that he embodied the latter until recently. His own proclivity towards literal thinking notwithstanding, Fitz was excellent in sweeping Jemma off her feet - both literally and figuratively.

As she slid into the dining chair he pulled out for her, she thought again that he had done a really, truly excellent job at choosing their resort. Although the vacation had, of course, been her idea, Fitz had been the one to send her the website for this particular place. A few weeks after Lincoln's death, Fitz's emailed link popped up on her work computer without any other indication from him that he remembered that brief conversation at all. When she met his eyes across the lab, all he did was quirk his lips upward, thereby gently continuing the conversation that had been abruptly halted by the realities of their jobs.

In the spirit of most such swanky resort restaurants, their seats were close together and facing the stage. The candle at the table’s center nearly sputtered at (but withstood) a warm, nighttime breeze, and a cluster of frangipanis were gathered in a miniature vase at the opposite corner from where they sat. Feeling impulsive, Jemma reached over her menu and plucked one of the little white-and-yellow flowers out of its aquamarine container and tucked the stem behind one ear. She caught Fitz watching her, his eyes a flickering navy in the candlelight, and gave him a little shrug. To her surprise - although why it was, at this point, she wasn’t sure - all he did was reach over and adjust the flower so it sat more securely, and then cupped one hand around her jaw to bring her in for a tender kiss. Hyperbole notwithstanding, Jemma just about melted into a puddle at the way Fitz kissed her, reverent and sweet with the promise of heat saved for later. Before he could pull entirely away, Jemma brushed their noses together, wishing they could stay this close for the entire meal. The smile he gave her in return made something in her chest clench, and she only reluctantly let him slip away to sit back in his seat.

Although they had been talking constantly throughout the trip, much of the early part of this dinner involved no talking from either of them. The music was loud, and Jemma felt terribly rude speaking when the woman sang. Aside from a few whispers here and there, they sat side by side, comfortable enough with each other that the absence of conversation felt natural.

Once their orders were taken, Fitz scooted his chair a few inches closer and wrapped his hands around hers, bringing them up to kiss her knuckles. He looked particularly handsome at that moment, his dark blazer worn open over a lighter blue shirt, sans tie. (The collar was also parted slightly, and although he _said_ he’d been wearing it like that to alleviate the heat underneath the blazer, she suspected it was because he knew just how fond she’d become of his collarbone in recent nights.)

In the back of her head, a very small part of her was indignant at how absolutely, soppily, perfectly romantic he was being. It was making it incredibly hard for her to out-romance him when he looked at her like that, feathering his lips across her skin and keeping eye contact so intensely that she had to drop her gaze. His adoration was overwhelming at times, but in truth she was basking in it. Sometimes she wished she _was_ as effective at showing how she felt as he was, because she tried but her own instincts fought her. Although she felt a love for Fitz so utterly, completely, earthshakingly strong that it often made everything seem surreal, that feeling just as often made her want to bury her face in his neck and hide.

Jemma was in love and wanted to be in love, but finding so-called “normal" ways of expressing it was something she was still learning. Sharing the chapters-worth of information on tropical fish that she found so fascinating was much more up her alley. And it was fortunate that her boyfriend seemed to understand that this was her way of sharing her feelings, and was genuinely almost as interested in the fish as she. (Almost, because he was the most interested in seeing a dugong in the wild, and dugongs are mammals and not fish.)

They separated once their food arrived, with Fitz tucking right into his salmon steak as she would have expected. There was something particularly endearing about the gusto with which he ate, eyes lighting up as he chewed the perfectly grilled fish or potatoes. As Jemma speared a handmade pumpkin ravioli, movement from a table to their upper-right caught her eye. The couple sitting at that table - two men a few years older than she and Fitz - were pressed hip to hip as they fed each other spoonfuls of chocolate mousse.

Before she’d realized it, a cooing noise escaped her mouth, drawing Fitz’s attention to the romantic scene that had distracted her from her food. His nose wrinkled, and he looked down to his steak, and then to her ravioli, clearly not relishing the idea of mimicking the other couple. Jemma burst into giggles, which only made him look more dour.

“What?”

“Nothing -”

“I just don’t think -“

“Really -”

“That it’d be the same -”

“I was just thinking -”

“With a steak or _pasta_ -”

“How romantic that was -”

“We could try it with dessert, but -”

“Fitz,” she said, stopping his muttered discontent by curling one hand over his wrist. “It doesn’t matter. Really. And I don’t….” She cleared her throat, holding back another laugh. “It’s not quite as romantic if it’s not spontaneous.” When he continued to frown, she leaned over to press two affectionate kisses to his cheek, lingering as she whispered the last. “You’re wonderful exactly as you are, Fitz. Okay?”

He eyed her as she settled back into her seat and waited expectantly for him to respond. “Alright,” he said at last, giving her hand a quick squeeze and then returning to his meal.

(Did she find the idea of Fitz feeding her spoonfuls of chocolate mousse rather appealing? Perhaps. Although, if she were being honest, the fantasy would only be complete if they were both also naked, so it wasn’t as if a moment had truly been lost at the restaurant.)

The rest of the meal passed without her giving any further thought to the discussion. Until, that is, she was on her way back to the table from the W.C., which was located in a little pair of wooden huts behind the enormous gazebo which served as the dining room. As she strode between the huts, having taken a few moments to fix the hang of her emerald satin slip dress, someone yanked her back behind one of the walls and she let out a startled screech.

Her entire body tensed, fists raising instantly to fight off her attacker, but within seconds she recognized the voice: “It’s me, it’s me, Jemma.” Pressing her against the wood to keep them both standing, Fitz had one hand hovering in front of her mouth, as if he’d been about to muffle her if she’d screamed again.

Jemma did, in fact, let out a loud noise, but it was of annoyance, and she whacked him very hard against the chest at the same time that she nearly collapsed back against the restroom hut, adrenaline soaring through her veins. “Fitz! That’s not funny!”

Before she could properly scold him for scaring the bloody hell out of her, however, he leaned down to slant her lips open with his own, tilting her head back with one hand and crowding her up against the wall. Every stroke of his tongue against hers weakened her resolve to break away and tell him what’s-what, and when he sucked her lower lip into his mouth she found herself whimpering and wrapping her arms up around his neck. There would be time to scold him later.

One of his hands fumbled at her dress, and she realized a few seconds too late that he was reaching up underneath it. “What,” she mumbled, breaking away from his kiss, “are you…?” Fitz reached his destination then, slipping his hand beneath her underwear and stroking his fingers against her center. A startled little cry escaped her throat, and she buried her face in the crook of her boyfriend’s neck, attempting to mute any further sounds she might make.

Briefly, she was torn about how to react, worried about the possibility that anyone could happen upon them at any moment. Trying to convince herself to tell him to cease the movements of his sinfully dextrous fingers, she tilted her head up, leaning her chin on his shoulder. The ocean sparkled under the moon beyond the sandy shores, horizon broken up by breeze-blown palm trees, and not a soul was in sight. Fitz turned to nuzzle at her neck, nipping at the delicate skin and bringing her attention abruptly back to him as he continued to rub quick, tight circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves with which he’d become so well-acquainted over the past few days. Jemma gasped at the feeling he was winding up inside her, foreshocks already beginning to shiver through her limbs as she spread her legs further apart to give him more room to work.

His smile curved up against her skin, fingers working faster, and she fought against the urge to close her eyes. “That’s right,” he murmured directly into her ear, voice low and rough. 

What was right, though, Jemma never found out, because at just that moment someone came strolling and whistling down the little pathway between the two bathrooms. In seconds, Fitz removed his hand from between her thighs and she frantically finished tugging her dress down and resettling her knickers. Once a nearby restroom door had closed, he peeked his head around the wall.

“Alright,” he breathed, sounding as flushed as she felt, “coast is clear.” Turning back to give her a once over, Fitz smirked. “See, I can be spontaneous, too.”

Jemma’s jaw dropped open, although she let him take her hand and tug her back in the direction of the restaurant. “ _That_ was you….” She let out something between a noise of disbelief and a growl. “I cannot believe you did that to me just to prove a bloody point.”

He blinked innocently back at her, shoving the hand in question into his trousers pocket. “But you like it when I... y'know. Do _that_.”

Wincing as she adjusted her gait to accommodate her own increased sensitivity at the moment, she shot him a sharp glare. “We’re not staying for dessert.”

His eyes lit up. “No?”

She couldn’t help the smile his expression elicited, and she shook her head; he was far too adorable for his own good. “No.”

The entrance back into the outdoor restaurant was too narrow for them both, so she shooed him ahead of her, angling him in the direction of their table. Once Fitz was out earshot, Jemma flagged down a nearby waiter. “Two orders of the chocolate mousse, please. To go.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated G. A July 4th flufflet.
> 
> [Original Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/146911239713/fourth-at-the-seychelles-a-happy-fourth-of-july-to).

“I’ve decided this is my third favorite holiday,” Jemma announced, resting her head on Fitz’s shoulder.

The beach was rowdy and crowded as guests waited fir the resort’s promised fireworks, with children running to and fro and a spontaneous football game having kicked into high gear nearby. Although the fourth of July wasn’t celebrated on the Seychelles, the resorts all celebrated it unofficially by having “summer fireworks,” to appease any especially patriotic American tourists and to give everyone else a show. After dinner, Jemma and Fitz had ambled down to their resort’s beach chairs and claimed one together, both of them feeling rather lazy after a day of snorkeling (and adding to Jemma’s extensive catalogue of which flora and fauna she’d spotted), and full from dinner to boot.

He craned his head back to raise an eyebrow in her direction. “Third favorite? An _American_ holiday?”

“For the fireworks,” she explained. “New Year’s Eve is second, Christmas first.”

“Good,” he chuckled, rubbing one hand over her bared upper arm, warming her up nicely. “Wouldn’t know who you were anymore if Christmas wasn’t still your first.” She laughed, giving his stomach a light poke. “Just ‘cause of the fireworks, though? Really?”

“They remind me of you.” Jemma took in a small breath, tilting her head up to give Fitz a smile. “When you shot the flare through the portal…. It looked a little like fireworks. I’ve never felt such…” she trailed off, motioning one hand from the middle of her stomach up past her chest. “Joy.”  

Ducking her head, she let her eyes fall on the buttons of his shirt. It was a silly notion to adopt the American Independence Day as a holiday just because it inevitably was celebrated with fireworks, but she’d decided to commit to the idea early that morning when adrenaline had rushed through her at the thought that they’d get to spend the evening at the beach underneath the streaming lights.

“So,” she concluded, cheeks warming, “even if it is a bit weird, being English and celebrating the fourth, I quite like this holiday. Getting to watch fireworks with you.”

Just as she was starting to worry about his silence, Jemma felt two fingers press beneath her chin. Fitz tilted her head up so he could capture her lips with his, sliding his hand up along the back of her head and cradling her against him. The kiss was languid and careful, all the more weighted because of the restraint simmering underneath, and Jemma sighed into his mouth. 

A loud explosion sounded above the beach to many awed gasps from the other tourists, all of whom stopped to stare up at the lights arcing through the night. She broke reluctantly away from Fitz’s kiss, brushing their noses together before turning her head up to the sky. His arm tightened around her shoulders and she snuggled closer in, unable to help the little sounds of surprise she made as the fireworks soared above them. Every so often, she’d point out an especially pretty one, stretching up to speak against his ear so she could be heard over the noise. 

If Fitz thought her relatively newfound love of fireworks silly or odd, he didn’t say, only holding her close and watching the show with just as much interest. For the hundredth time on this vacation, Jemma felt like she was practically bursting with peace and contentment, curled around her favorite person in the world as she watched fireworks burst and wheel against the nighttime sky. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated a hard T/light M for PTSD discussions, a panic attack, and sex mentions.
> 
> Unprompted; something I've wanted to write for a while, but hadn't figured out how to approach. Because trauma doesn't just disappear when you're happy.
> 
> [Tumblr Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/149711075658/not-quite-bach-in-g-major).

Although the evening had been quieter than some of the others they’d shared in the Seychelles, Fitz thought it had been pretty fantastic. He and Jemma had made love after dinner and a quiet walk on the beach, and he’d fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep within minutes. One of the most surprising things about vacationing on the Seychelles was how well he slept; he’d been something of a restless sleeper since his brain injury, but here each night was more peaceful than the last. (When he’d mentioned this to Jemma earlier that day, she’d raised an eyebrow and murmured that having a lot of rather vigorous sex was probably the culprit. Fair play to her there – and he certainly wasn’t complaining.)

After a couple of hours, Fitz half-awoke and rolled over to bundle Jemma into his arms, having felt her absence even in his sleep. All he found on her side of the bed, however, were ice-cold sheets and an abandoned pillow, and he blinked his eyes open. Pushing himself onto one elbow, he quickly determined that Jemma was neither in the bathroom (which was dark, the door open) nor, as far as he could see, anywhere in their one-room cabin. Before any kind of real panic had time to work its way into his chest, he noted that the sheet and curtain covering the sliding door to their deck were askew as they hadn’t been earlier. His mouth twisted in concern, and, scrubbing at his eyes, he scooted out of bed to hunt for his boxers. 

A nighttime breeze blew the curtains into the room behind him as he slid open the glass door, and the fear he’d managed keep at bay sliced right through his gut when he heard sobs coming from outside. Wearing only the resort’s frond-patterned green bathrobe and crying desperately into her bent knees, Jemma was curled over herself at the top of the deck’s stairs, a few feet from the wall of the covered hot tub. He whispered her name as he stepped outside, making sure the latch was unlocked and closing the door behind himself.

She let out a horrified gasp when she heard his voice, whipping her head around to look at him and then devolving into even more violent tears. “No,” she cried, shaking her head and staring somewhere in the space between them, “no, you’re – you’re n-not sup-posed to see me like – like – like – like....” Her breathing cut off into sharp inhales, the words getting stuck in her throat and turning her sobs into an outright panic attack.

Quickly realizing that something about his appearance had set her down the path towards hyperventilating, he dropped down next to her on the staircase and took firm hold of the first hand he could find. “Jemma, breathe,” he instructed, trying to sound authoritative and calm. “Don’t explain, don’t think, just listen to me and breathe.” 

“But it’s all – all wrong,” she burst out, ignoring his instructions and squeezing his hand so hard he winced. “Vacation – n-not, not sup-posed to c-cry, or – or – you should b-be asle-ep –”

“Jemma,” he repeated, “stop that. _Breathe_.” Inhaling deeply, he tried to provide a rhythm she could follow, breathing in and out until her hic-gasps slowed. “Follow me, breathe.”

At last, with one last shudder, her breaths evened out, although her tears continued unabated. Letting out his own little puff of air, Fitz’s shoulders sagged in relief. His train of thought moved immediately to figuring out what he should do to help her. Remembering that seeing him had triggered her somehow, he made the reluctant decision to give her space. Just as he was about to let go of her hand, however, Jemma turned and threw her arms around his chest. Crying still, she clung to him so tightly his lungs were hard-pressed to expand to full capacity.

Although he’d never been the best at sussing out social cues, he guessed this meant that she didn’t want him to leave after all. Settling himself more comfortably on the wooden flooring, he began rubbing soothing circles over her back, trying not to worry that he’d done something to set her off in the first place. 

After what felt like a long time, the shaking of her shoulders slowed, her muscles relaxing as she leaned more heavily against him. “There,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, “there you go, that’s it.” As her tears slowed, he continued with a string of low-spoken praise, focusing on reading her responses and reacting to them as best he could.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely, “I didn’t –”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he interrupted, trying not to cringe as she sniveled into his shoulder. “Just – what happened? If you wanna....”

“Nothing,” she spat out, her vitriol surprising him enough that he flinched as she yanked herself away from him. Heaving deep breaths, she leaned her arms on her knees and pressed both palms against her forehead. “It’s so stupid, Fitz, it’s _stupid_!”

“If you’re this unhappy,” he tried quietly, “it’s not stupid –”

“But that’s it!” Jemma turned to him with wide, red-rimmed eyes, helplessness written on her face. “I’m _happy_ , Fitz,” she said fiercely, reaching out to squeeze his left arm to her chest. “I’ve never been so happy in my entire life, not even when we were at the Academy.” Hiccuping, she paused, closing her eyes and inhaling as a tremulous smile flitted across her face. “I feel like I could burst with it sometimes. How could I possibly _be_ so happy?” When she opened her eyes again, something haunted hovered behind her expression, mingled with an anger she so rarely showed. “So I shouldn’t... it shouldn’t... come back. Not like that.”

Instead of interrupting to ask for more, he held his tongue, choosing only to sweep his thumb against the back of her hand in support. In any case, the panic attack having lessened, if not entirely abated, allowed her to continue on her own.

“Andrew,” she said quietly, and Fitz had to fight not to give her a look of utter confusion at the mention of their dead friend’s name, “would have said that I’ve been ‘cooking’ since the beach after dinner. When the – the sand blew up?”

Fitz frowned, trying hard to light upon the memory of what she meant. It had been windy enough earlier that the resort had recommended people refrain from swimming for part of the day, the waves too large and unpredictable to be safe. As they’d ambled along the moonlit shore, hands entwined and both a little lightheaded from the wine, a strong breeze had blown a puff of sand straight at them. Although he remembered dropping Jemma’s hand as he’d half-crouched, half-turned to duck the sand, nothing else about that moment had struck him at the time. Realizing that she’d been waiting for an answer from him, however, he nodded that he was following her.

“When that happened,” she continued, her voice getting almost unbearably quiet, “it was like... I was back _there_. In the dark, alone, lost in a sandstorm. [I couldn't make it stop](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/71059962965/trashybooksforladies-fangirl). Even when you were there again, and you were talking, and you took my hand....” She trailed off on a low sob, sniffling as she tried to hold more tears at bay. “It was like I would blink, and I’d be back on the planet. Like you weren’t real. Like... the sand took you away from me again. And I couldn't make it stop.”

His mouth bowed into an unconscious “oh,” and he wanted to kick himself for not having figured out that there was something wrong earlier. Although she’d initiated the seduction when they’d returned to their cabin, their lovemaking had been quieter than many other nights (and afternoons, and some mornings) they’d shared on their vacation. It had still been breathtaking, and fantastic, and hot, but he’d sensed that there was something else going on in that brilliant mind he so adored, even as he’d moved inside her. Jemma had cradled his face in her hands, keeping his gaze locked on hers as they’d moved together towards bliss, and he wondered now if that had been to make sure he was still there with her, to make sure he wasn’t a hallucination or a dream.

Letting out a sharp noise of frustration, Jemma wiped angrily at the errant tears streaking down her cheeks. “And _that_ is why it’s stupid, Fitz, because I know that’s all ridiculous – _sand_. It’s just my brain playing tricks on me.”

“Jemma,” he admonished, wrapping one arm firmly around her shoulders, “it’s not stupid, you’re still recovering –”

“I’m not,” she replied stubbornly, not meeting his eyes. “I’m not, it’s been months – I haven’t had an ‘ _episode_ ,’” she spat out, as if the word itself were anathema to her, “in so long! _So_ long....” She trailed off, lowering her voice. “It shouldn’t be as – as... debilitating as it is, anyway, it’s all in my head.” 

Fitz leaned his head on hers, letting out a small huff of laughter. “Course it’s happening inside your head, Jemma, but why on earth should that mean that it isn’t real?” A surprised laugh shook out of her, and she turned her head so that her nose was pressed against his collarbone. He paused, wrinkling his nose slightly. “Or, important, anyway.”

“Don’t you start quoting Harry Potter on me, Leo Fitz.”

“Dumbledore, actually –” He cut himself off as she swatted half-heartedly at him, both of them letting out uneven little laughs. The air between them was shifting back to something more familiar, the time between Jemma’s deep, shuddering inhales finally lengthening until she was breathing evenly again.

“I know,” she whispered at last. “I know, I just... I get so frustrated, Fitz, I... I didn’t used to be like this.” 

Closing his eyes, he squeezed his left arm around her and tangled his fingers tightly with her other hand. “You’re just different now,” he murmured, nuzzling against her hair. “And I love you even more than I did before.” 

As much as it was something he fervently felt, he didn’t often say it, mostly because saying how he felt out loud still made him more anxious than he cared to admit. Showing her how he felt was enough for him; sometimes, however, times like these, Fitz knew that getting the words out was important.

A low sigh fell from her lips, and she tightened her grip on his hand. “Oh, _Fitz_ ,” she said quietly, and he was gratified that, this time, her words weren’t followed by a sniffle. After another few seconds, she tilted her head up to capture his lips in a soft kiss, fingers trailing lightly over his cheek. Her lips tasted like tears, but her mouth was sure as it moved against his, and the knot that had settled in his chest at seeing her so upset began to loosen. 

“C’mon,” he said when he broke away, rubbing one thumb at the moisture that lingered beneath her eyes. “Back to bed?”

“Yes,” she breathed, nodding as she let him pull her to her feet. “Bed. Although I’m not sure how well I’ll sleep now.”

“D’you wanna put something on the TV?” He turned back to her as he slid the door open, watching her scrub her hands over her face before she followed him inside.

“No, thank you,” she replied, “I don’t think that would help.”

When Fitz turned around from latching the porch door and tugging the curtains closed, he had to physically bite his tongue as Jemma’s robe fluttered to the floor, leaving her nude before him. For once, she wasn’t actively attempting to seduce him; she’d stepped out of the robe only to slide between the covers on her side of the bed. Knowing that to be the case didn’t help ease the flare of arousal he felt at seeing her naked, though, and he had to go through the mental motions of attempting to solve a bit of Euclidean geometry before he could follow her to bed. Apparently, now that they were in a serious romantic relationship, Jemma seemed to believe that clothes were only necessary in situations that involved other people. She’d developed an affinity for wandering around the room itself completely naked in between going for showers and changing, rather than covering up with a towel. As much as it was a distinct perk of their new relationship that Fitz very, very much appreciated, it was also still something to which he was adjusting. (He, for example, always wore a towel round his waist after he showered – unless Jemma had other designs on him at that moment, that is.)

Ignoring his apparently unquenchable libido, he crawled into bed after her. When she reached for him, though, he didn’t go to her immediately, propping himself up on one elbow and frowning down at the mattress.

“Jemma,” he said slowly, trying to form his next sentence as carefully as possible. “Tomorrow, would you... please, just, don’t do that thing where you’re too cheerful to make up for something. Okay?” Giving her a half-smile, he reached over to tuck loose hair behind her ear, letting his hand linger against her neck. “I don’t want you to pretend around me.” 

Her eyebrows raised in surprise, and she blinked down at the white cotton sheets. “I just wanted our vacation to be....” A little sigh puffed out of her throat, and she smiled wearily up at him. “Okay. I promise.”

“Thank you.” Leaning up to give her a chaste peck on the lips, he pulled her down to settle them both on the bed.

Jemma resisted, though, instead stretching up over him so she could press slow, sweet kisses all over his face, from his forehead, to his cheeks, to his nose, to his temples. Suppressed laughter reverberated through his chest, as endearing as her behavior may be, but he let her continue without comment. Finally, brushing their noses together, she seemed to have finished with her wordless thanks. 

“I love you,” she whispered against his lips, resting their foreheads briefly together.

“I know,” he murmured in response, and she gave him a wide, amused smile before turning around and wriggling back in against him. 

Fitz hadn’t really meant it as a joke or a reference, although it occurred to him once the words were out of his mouth. Sometimes he got the sense that Jemma had arranged this whole trip to prove the depth of her feelings for him, and he just wanted to assure her that, at last, after everything they’d been through together, he believed her. Now, his new mission for the rest of their vacation was to try to convince her to be as kind to herself as she was to everyone else. Doing that was the best way she could, someday, leave her trauma behind her at last; Fitz knew this from experience probably better than anyone else.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A present for [mrsdecaestecker](http://mrsdecaestecker.tumblr.com). <3
> 
> Rated G/light T (for _implications_ ). 
> 
> _ Based on [this prompt](http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/128364578652/imagine-person-a-of-your-otp-trying-to-get-person): "Imagine person A of your OTP trying to get Person B to exercise early in the morning. Bonus: Person B is not a morning person." _
> 
> [Tumblr Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/150661478158/determined-ish).

It was just after dawn on their fourth morning in the Seychelles, and Leo Fitz was absolutely, one-hundred percent determined not to give in to Jemma Simmons.

“ _Fiiiiiiiiitz_ ,” she breathed against his skin, nuzzling at his cheek and trying to get him to open his eyes. “It’s so beautiful outside! You don’t want to miss it by being a slugabed, do you?”

He cracked open one eyelid just enough so he could see her where she was half-leaning, half-lying over his side, already decked out in her workout clothes. Every morning, she tried to convince him to join her for a morning jog on the beach. And every morning, he gave in, grumbling and lagging at least a couple of feet behind her. 

But not today. Today, he was going to put his foot down.

“Mmmerff,” he responded, eliciting an altogether too appealing giggle from his girlfriend. “I’d be happy to be active _in_ bed, y’know….”

As he reached out, fingers brushing lightly against her navy workout shirt, she made a tutting noise and pushed away his hands. “As active as we are during sex, it’s not the sustained cardio work-out that is recommended to keep a person’s body as healthy as their mind.”

She was being too chipper again, so he squeezed his one open eye shut. “Mm-mm.”

“Fiiiiiitz -!”

“Mmnope.”

“I’d love the company….” Fitz whined and shuffled around until he was lying face-first on his pillow; her reminding him of how much she enjoyed spending time together was the one thing sure to weaken his resolve. “I love _you_.”

“That’s not fair,” he mumbled into a mouthful of hotel-white cotton, and then let out an instinctive hum as she scooted back in against him to begin scratching her fingers through his hair. For a few seconds, he almost forgot what he’d resolved not to do, distracted by the comforting warmth of her against his back and the affectionate sweeps of her fingers.

“You’re right,” she replied, voice fading from amused to thoughtful. “It _isn’t_ fair. We’ve beaten every odd, and yet….” Jemma pressed sweet, brief little kisses down his neck and across his bare shoulder, causing his libido to perk up more than should be possible this early in the day. (And yet, was entirely expected when he was sharing a bed with Jemma.) “Here we are anyway,” she continued quietly. “And I don’t want to miss one second of it.”

Groaning, Fitz flipped ungracefully around again, catching her off-guard just enough that he could tug her forward to lie properly against his chest. “How’m I supposed to resist _that_ argument?”

“You’re not,” she said, an altogether too-smug smile creeping across her face. “Would it make you feel better if I said that when we get back, we can practice that _thing_ you liked doing yesterday?”

His eyes went out of focus as her words brought up a variety of vivid images from yesterday’s post-snorkeling romp in their bed (or, near their bed). “Okay.”

“Okay…?”

Fitz let out a petulant sigh. “Okay, I will go jogging with you.”

“Thank you,” she chirped, dropping a kiss on his nose and rolling off of him.

With unnecessarily exaggerated yawning and grumbling, Fitz forced himself out of bed so he could hunt down his workout clothes and get ready to leave. Before he shuffled into the bathroom, though, he snuck up behind Jemma where she stood at the dresser and wrapped his arms low around her abdomen.

“I love you, too,” he murmured, pressing two scratchy, affectionate kisses against her cheek.

“And I’m very grateful for it,” she teased, tipping her head back to smile up at him. “Go get dressed. If you hurry, we might even see some of the monkeys.”

A low sound of excitement escaped him before he could rein it in, and she giggled into the kiss she brushed against his jaw. With a swift pat of his boxer-clad bum, she shooed him off toward the restroom, and he grumpily complied.

In the end, she had won the argument for today; there was always tomorrow. Jemma was known for being really quite persuasive… and, just maybe, Fitz rather liked watching her run on the beach. There was something to be said for spandex, sand, and sunlight, after all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated a **hard M**.
> 
> What Jemma really meant by "snorkeling" in 3x21.
> 
> [Tumblr Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/144535273923/snorkeling).  
> Also originally posted in my ficlet collection [Daydreams](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3339782/chapters/15730996), but since I prefer to keep that collection T-rated I moved it over here. (It's also obviously really meant to be with this collection, but it was posted before all the other chapters.)

Fitz had thought that he would hate spending a whole week at the beach. There were mosquitos, sand in all kinds of unholy places, and his skin was very sensitive to the sun. He was, however, very happy to be proven wrong.

“Jemma,” he choked out, feet just barely reaching the sandy floor in the gentle pull of the water. A low, rocky crag blocked them from the rest of the beach and their tour group, and for once he was deeply glad to be just under the average height for an adult male. “They’re gonna be ready to go… any minute now… what’re you… doing….”

Jemma just looked up from where she’d been busily working up a love bite at the join of his neck and shoulder, and shoved the large, plastic goggles further back on her head. Her other hand continued its achingly slow pumps along his shaft, pleasure curling through him as the salt water ebbed against his chest. When she registered the dazed expression on his face, all she did was smirk.

“I told you I’d take you snorkeling, Fitz.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated a **hard M** for **sexual content**. PWP, based on [a particular part](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/151035093623/cue-jemma-gasping-am-i-the-only-one-imagining) of 4x02.
> 
> Initially written to be canon-compliant, but since it's far too M-rated to be posted in [Daydreams](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3339782), I decided to edit it and set it in the Seychelles instead. You can still find the original version on my tumblr, [here](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/151056170768/that-gasp).

Soft, pre-dawn light filtered into the resort cabin, birds chirped in the trees outside, and the mattress creaked quietly beneath them. In theory, they had places to be today, but as far as Fitz was concerned at this moment, space was overrated, time was overrated, and all of the above could stop working spontaneously and he wouldn’t care a whit. Slow-thrusting into Jemma from behind, one hand curled around her hip as she rocked against him and the other sliding up and down her ribs, was taking up all of his attention. He cupped her breast with his roving hand, pinching her nipple just to feel her shiver bodily against him.

“ _Fiiitz_ ,” she let out on a shaky moan, reaching out to grip their headboard so hard he could see her knuckles turn white.

Taking that as a good sign, he dug his knees harder into the bed and slid his lips up to suck at the satin-smooth skin just beneath her left ear. Her muscles clenched around him and he let out a soft grunt, heat coursing through him in response to her body’s trembling. Many days, Jemma took charge in their bedroom escapades, but today they’d been sharing the lead back and forth, which made the pleasure of being inside her meld with the tenderness that spread through his chest. He could tell how close she was getting by the way that she’d begun to follow his movements, her hips twitching a little more unpredictably in his hold. If he did what he’d been thinking about, she’d be soaring into her orgasm in seconds.

With a sharp inhale, he moved the hand from her hip to rub at her clit. “Cue Jemma gasping,” he muttered heatedly against her ear, “in three, two….” Then Fitz thrust upwards, sliding into her at a slightly different angle and brushing purposefully over her G-spot.

Sure enough, Jemma made the exact shivery gasp he’d wanted, a breathy, shocked sound tinged with the barest hint of a whimper. Her other hand flew from where she’d had it curled around the back of his neck to grip the headboard, her inner walls clenching teasingly around him as she processed the feeling. As he increased the speed and strength of his strokes, she bucked insistently back against him, her voice bubbling up in unconscious, desperate gasps.

“There,” she cried out, head tilting back onto his shoulder and giving him just enough space to nip gently at her neck. “T-there! F-Fitz, I - I -!” With a wordless cry, she shook apart around him, back arching to keep him stroking at the right angle and her inner muscles tensing and releasing in a way that sent Fitz spiraling towards his own climax.

Digging his knees into the mattress, he bucked wildly up into her until he flew over the edge after her, groaning hotly against her neck. They shivered together as they faded into a joint, loose-muscled aftermath, both frozen in place for a few seconds too long as their brains tried to catch up. Eventually, Fitz moved first, pulling out and reaching forward to tug her back from the headboard, accidentally catching the mosquito netting on his hand and having to shake it away. Although he’d meant to get up right away and clean off, he couldn’t resist wrapping his arms around her once more and kissing her until he was completely out of breath. Jemma hummed at his attention, swaying a little on her knees.

With a happy sigh, she pulled back from his kiss, letting her fingers scratch lightly against the stubble of his jaw. “Go clean up,” she murmured, brushing her nose against his, and he almost didn’t listen to her, so entranced was he by the sparkle in her eyes. But, Jemma had given him an order - and Fitz was getting quite good at following those.

After a few, brief moments that still felt too long, he pushed aside the bed's netting again and slipped under the sheets after her, reaching out to tuck the covers around them both as she settled herself against his chest.

“You’re a smug ass,” she said, startling him out of his post-coital lassitude.

“What??”

“ _Cue Jemma gaspin’_ ,” she mimicked, aping his Scottish accent rather terribly, and then laughed. “Oh, if I hadn’t been _so_ close I would have stopped just to teach you a lesson!”

“What a waste that would’ve been,” he teased back, earning himself a light slap on the stomach.

Letting out a cross between a grumble and a giggle, she snuggled in further, tucking her head beneath his chin and tangling their fingers together just above his heart. In theory, they had plans to go snorkeling again only an hour from now, and they still both needed to shower and eat breakfast. But Fitz was too busy basking in how little space there was between him and Jemma now, in how precious these moments of private joy felt; their vacation plans could wait a little longer.

 


End file.
